


A Spaceman Came Travelling

by Fluffysminion



Series: Arrival of the Azure Wanderer [1]
Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Carbonek, Feral World, Ghoul, Monster - Freeform, Mutation Stage: Five, Rats, Rogue Trader - Freeform, The Tall and the Smalls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24127138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluffysminion/pseuds/Fluffysminion
Summary: Carbonek is a feral world, located in an uncharted region of space beyond the bounds of the Imperium of Man. The Immaterium is turbulent there, not a warp storm as such but the currents are both powerful and transient making it difficult to navigate. A world that the galaxy at large has no reason to know or care about.At least, that is how it should be. But something in that system shines through the Warp, faint but reliable, like starlight. And so ships do find their way there, and spread word of a planet of primitives with rings of metal-rich debris, where a song softly sung echoes in the minds of those able to hear it. People whisper of buried cities and ancient technology, of wild theories about what the beacon might be. But the ones who have answers keep them tight against their chest.There are reasons to visit such a place, but many of those reasons can also be interpreted as warnings to stay away.
Series: Arrival of the Azure Wanderer [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1751956
Kudos: 2





	1. Contact with the Natives

Lord-Captain Castronova hands the dismal report back to the nervous crewman that delivered it. Bloody engine. Typical. So the nearest world is this backwater nobody's been to in forever. Charts don't even have a name, just an inane number. Well, there's signs that there were once people here, and he'd be remiss in his duties to leave a world unsurveyed while they wait for Hessman to repair the recalcitrant engine. Nothing to do but take the cutter and a detachment down, see what this world has to offer.

***

The light trails in the sky are a mystery to most who witness them, but Nikota knows what they mean. A ship has come to Carbonek. The prospect of off-worlders is exciting, they will be dangerous, but she likes dangerous. There are few enough places where crumbling buildings hold the forest back (she still finds it funny how wrong that is) that it’s worth looking for where they landed. Her many paws make short work of burying her rifle, best to keep it simple to start with and match their expectations. She marks the base of the tree so she’ll be able to sniff it out quickly if she does need it then sets off for the closest landing site, humming to herself.

A flock of magpies rises, screeching. Nikota freezes, but no rat-ogre or knifetooth lumbers past. It must have been the ship that scared them. She sticks to cover just in case, slinking through the ground-ferns with the stop start motion of a feral hunting cat. The trees here grasp walls and shards of cobbles with their roots, and there are frequent breaks in the tree-roof where buildings have not yet given up on trying to be a city.

The forest ends abruptly, the floor and two walls of a building at least six houses long stands mostly intact. She cringes back from the edge, despite her earlier enthusiasm she feels vulnerable without her weapon, and the fear-screech of the magpies rattled her more than she cares to admit. Crouched at the edge she watches the open space, and the newcomers, with black eyes and the nervous tension of any other flighty forest creature.

The Lord-Captain steps out onto the rubble, surveying the progress of the camp. So there _had_ been settlements here. Once. A tech priest is inspecting them with an auspex while the house troops start to form a perimeter. Some servo skulls fan out while stubber nests are assembled. Eerie place, can't shake the notion he's being watched. Power cables run from the cutter to a field kitchen while a bonfire is constructed. Most animals fear fire, and it could draw in curious natives.

The practiced way they set about altering the environment impresses Nikota. But she’s an older and wiser creature than the child who was awed by the sight of a gun, and she knows that human confidence is often misplaced.

She steps into the open. Wrapped in a cloak of numerous small pelts she certainly looks the part of naïve feral worlder, she hopes they’ll see her black eyes and birthmark and look no closer than that. Although that alone might be enough to turn them hostile. Her caution is not entirely faked.

Something has moved. Stubbers swivel, a floodlumen snaps on. Looks like a local. Tension dissipates somewhat. A petty officer stands, and beckons forward. "Greetings. Speak Gothic?"

She nods enthusiastically. This is a good start. "Uh huh." She approaches the officer, still nervous but rapidly gaining confidence. "Who're yu? What're y'here f'r? If y're lookin f'sumthin I might b'able t'help." Nikota is fairly certain that these are imperials from how they are all dressed the same, but if they've made it this far out they are probably sensible enough to value a helpful living mutant over a dead one.

That's an accent. He speaks up. "Traders. Ya've a King, Cheif, Hetman, Maharaja? Ya local laird ora thane? Hap's a Knight?" If this is a lost Knight World things would get... complicated. Hopefully not. Local hereditary strongmen tended to be the norm.

Nikota smiles as if he just said something funny. “No luds here ‘m’fraid, jus people. Not many ‘f’them round either. But ‘f’y’re here t’trade I c’n show y’t’furs an’ meat I was goin’t’take t’town, or I cud show where t’town is ‘f’y’want sumthin else. But t’market wun’t b’there until t’hunter’s moon’s full.” A moment of thought, then she decides to go for it. “M’name’s Nikota.”

He decides to continue with the accent. "Well lest I'd'll knew o tha location come moontide." he beckons her closer "what ye be haven fer sale?"

It takes her a few moments to parse his words, then she narrows her eyes. “I told you, furs an’ meat, things you get from dead animals.” She speaks slowly and carefully, unsure if she’s being mocked or he genuinely doesn’t understand. While a trace of her accent remains in the indistinct vowels, the overall pronunciation is far more imperial.

“I can take you t’the house where I’m storing what I have, an’ you can see for yourself.” Flashing a grin, she adds. “Though not all’f y’will fit, there’re a lot f’yer.”

"D'ya mind ifin we take tha flayin machine? Ya can come along, t'would be a better base o operations?"

Nikota debates trying to explain why that would be impractical and probably unnecessary, but she decides it’s probably not worth it. And she is curious about what a flaying machine might look like. “Sure, f’y’want.”

"Alrighten letsen seen." he turns to an armoured fellow. "Alright lads, we found a local, pack it all up, she's got a better base location, some sort of local trade nexus. " there are a few groans but the longshoremen began hauling stuff back. The stubber teams move last, only once all the gear is back aboard the cutter. "Ween goen in tha fly beast now ok?"


	2. The Fly Beast

Watching teams of people moving gun emplacements around sets her insides scurrying. Some degree of miscommunication was to be expected, but she had not expected all of them to move with them. And trade nexus seemed an awfully fancy title to give her drying shed. But she lets the man lead her into the ship, trying to keep her eyes down and avoid getting too close to anyone. She remembers now that Jaspar had often tried to explain the scale Imperials operate on, and she thinks she is starting to understand what he meant.

"Y'must've priests t'mantain this right? Would y'mind f'I speak t'them?" A machine this big must have tech priests, although she hadn't seen any red robes yet. "And y'haven't told me y'name, or what y're offerin. People might find th't suspicious, a trader that dosn't say what they trade in."

"Not at all. I mostly trade in fish and shellfish" a few alarm bells rang. Was there a mechanicus presence here? Was the woman an offworlder? Did she know what fish is? "Pearls, meat, kelp, coral and the like. More exotic stuff too."

“There’re fish here, river-fish an’ pond fish. An’ shell thin’s, but ev’ryone likes shells. ‘Specially unusual uns. Y’shuld do fine.” She smiles, but it’s somewhat forced. She wishes the strange fish trader man well, but half of her wants to investigate this ‘fly beast’ and the other half wants to run and hide from the many armed soldiers and she’s having a hard time keeping herself together. “’M Nikota. What should I call y?”

It shouldn’t take long to reach their destination, Nikota reckons, but she’s already anxious to get out as soon as possible. She’s picked up too much of Jaspar’s nervousness, he’d tried hard to instil a fear of the imperium in her and to her frustration he’d been more successful than she’d given him credit for.

There's an oddly artificial throat clearing sound. "Mmmh You can call me Captain Castronova, Madam Nikota" no sense in excessive titles. It screamed "rich" or "Imperium" or "Pompous upper-class twit" There were times and places for those, this was likely not one of them. Shells was good, he could work with that. Many a primitive world used them as currency.

“Cas-truh-no-vuh.” Somewhat of a mouthful, but she thinks she can remember it. “M’place’s jus’ dun there, if y’set dun in th’t clearin there should b’space.”

He gestures to the pilot, who nods affirmative and the gun cutter decelerates and begins to descend. "Neighborfolk ain't gonna be spooketh aye?"

“No, there’s no-un nearby.” Probably. And if anyone had wondered close enough to see the vehicle overhead, they should get spooked. Better they ran from here than make it any further in. The thought agitates Nikota, and a rat runs over the outside of her clothes before she has a chance to regain her composure. She looks away and lapses into silence, hoping the offworld trader hasn’t noticed.

"Good, ah good" he watches the rat. Must be a common pet. He'd heard of people training rats to fight, or solve puzzles. The cutter would need cleaning before docking back anyway, he made a mental note. "Mindee ye belt tis about ta drop o' the earth" The cutter's landing struts sink into the earth as the pilot's whispered litany to the machine spirit for a stable landing echoes in the cockpit. The ramp begins to lower. "Showeth mine helot-vassals arunde?"


	3. One of /Those/ Locals

Nikota is entirely unclear what helot-vassals might possibly mean, but the confined space and scent of strangers is starting to get to her. She scurries out as soon as she feels it is acceptable to do so, and takes deep breaths of the familiar air. Her heart beats slow as her lungs fill with smells that say “mine” and “safe”. The danger hasn’t passed of course, but the parts of her that are calmed by the scents don’t understand that.

The open ground is almost like cobblestones beneath her feet, the loose rubble worn down to small chunks that packed together closely enough to be stable. She steps carefully over to the shelter of the surrounding trees, where her drying shed sags under the weight of the antlers on the roof.

“Dun’t mind t’smell,” She calls back cheerfully. “‘t keeps t’scavung’rs ‘way.”

A house of antlers. Odd. Perhaps the velvet trade? Antler trade? He'd seen antler chandeliers, antler handled weapons. The fetched a pretty throne on Hive worlds. The woman seemed... nervous. Noses wrinkle as armsmen begin to fan out. One of them, impressively scarred, Caius was his name? murmurs. "Something nasty came through here. " The internal cogitator whirrs. A ex beast houser. Maybe they'd need to break out the Grox Guns. "Thisen be ye holdfast-habblock?"

Nikota shakes her head. “No, this’s where I dry t’meat an’ skins. Y’wouldn’ get that ship anywhere near where I act’ully live.” She smiles at the trader. “There’s not much space inside, but I c’n show y’what I have to sell. ‘T’s not much, but I’m only one person.”

She reaches the doorway and turns to watch the offworlder approach, leaning against the doorframe to give herself a chance to sniff the mark. It was fresh, he’d been past in the last day. She prays he’s moved on and hasn’t noticed the ship. She holds his first shed tight in her hand as she slips inside, behind the hanging pelts and into the space where the dried meat and furs were stored.

He follows cautiously. Nothing he'd seen so far would do much to cover the value of the promethium expended getting here. Local contacts weren’t easily quantifiable though. Perhaps the furs? "Ye fabricatify allen ye loneself?" also he makes a note to get the modulator fixed tomorrow if possible. Damnable techsprites.

“Yeh, ‘m gud with a knife.” She takes one of the long carving knives down from the wall and spins it around in her hands. “I can split sumthin’ about your size into chunks in a couple’f minutes.” She grins, waving the blade in a final flourish before putting it back. “not had t’work that fast f’r a while though.”

Oh Throne, one of those types of locals. "I visualize. Said cutters, they be bronze, iron, steel, o wha ore tha smithy done forge" annoyed, he backhands his throat. "Infernal sprite"

She cocks her head, her brow furrowed. “What happened t’y’t’get a tech spirit in y’throat?” Nikota had been concerned about the offworlder’s lack of scent, but if machines replacing his flesh could explain that. She feels sorry for him.

“These… weren’t made here.” She runs her fingers along the handles of the set of blades, watching the way the metal catches the light. “I dun’t know what people here use, they call’t ‘geltan’, but I dun’t know ‘f’th’t means the type’r jus’ metul. I dun’t speak t’language th’t well, t’b’honest.” Sighing, she lets her hand drop and turns back to Castronova. “My family’r t’only ones here th’t speak gothic, so I sup’se y’re lucky t’ve come down here. I’m guessing y’dun’t want t’be onworld long enough t’be swapping languages.”

Well, clearly from off world, clearly knowing at least of machine spirits. There is a staticy hacking sound. "Ran afoul of a very beangry ragepup. Localy techadepts nae have the metalcraft?"

“No adepts here.” She spends a moment trying to work out if there’s anything else he might mean. The idea that someone might have sprites in their throat that could twist their words unnerves her, and she feels bad for her earlier frustration and misunderstandings. “Y’must have had t’Emperor with yer, t’survive a wound like that.” Her black eyes watch him warily.

 _Well, the missionaries are going to have an easier time of it_ "I've had worse damage." he chuckled. The jaw incident, the corsair, the meltagun all came to mind. "Ye be knowing of the Maestro o' Mankind?"

“Y’ave? Y’must have a dang’rous life, or terrible luck. M’re likely both.” Her brow furrowed in concern. Worse than a neck wound? She wonders how much of him is left, it would be rude to ask but she’s fairly certain it can’t be much. At least that’s one less thing to worry about. “Yeah I do, I may b’living far fr’m anywhere but that doesn’t mean I dun’t know anything.”

He nods. "So-in ye be knowledge about what these are thensee?" he pulls a throne from a pocket and flips it into his palm.

“Yeh, but there’s nothing y’can buy with that here. If there’s sumthing y’want I’d rather have t’time of y’techpriests th’n money th’t can’t be spent.”

"That be o fair accord" He opens the coat slightly revealing several sheathed knives. "Fora the pathfinding"

Her eyes open wide; still no white visible, even the parts normally hidden are completely black. Her coat rustles with scratching sounds as all of her moves forward to investigate. “Really? C’n look?” She catches herself and straightens up, embarrassed. “I mean, th’t’s v’ry gen’rous ‘f y’, r’y’sure? Th’t’s a big reward f’such a small fav’r, I’ve n’t been much help t’y’ so far, only what anyone would do.”

Something is amiss here. Perhaps the girl is a mutant. Hopefully not the warp kind. He nods. "think o it as a sample permaymaps." one of the knives’ handles is bone, another pearlescent, then two are matched with wooden handles.

She takes them carefully, unsheathing each in turn and meticulously examines the blades for imperfections. Their handle she pays little attention too, it is clear she is judging them on their weight and balance, their value as professional tools. Once Nikota is satisfied that they are not merely ornamental she sheathes them and lays them on a pile of furs.

“I dun’t mean no offence, jus’ need t’know whether they’re f’using or f’looking at.” After her focused examination her calm and confidence is gone again, once again having the look of a half-tamed animal. She looks to him and hesitates, then turns and takes a deep breath. She pulls a large shaggy hide down, revealing another section to the shack which is entirely taken up by one massive pair of antlers. Each prong is as thick as her arm, and she could comfortably fit in the flat ‘palm’ where they meet. “Would y’be int’rested in these?”

Something big lives here. And this small woman kills them. With knives. "Aye, affirmative. Thems be antlers and antlers o notable garguantenness. I can indeed merchent those to some folks of the keeps"

Smiling proudly she drags one out for him to look at. “How’d they compare t’ones fr’m other worlds? D’y’see much like ‘em?”

"Nay, antlet beasts the magnitude of yonder antlers be a rarity indeed. Ye harvest on your lonesomeness?"

"I used t'hunt with m'dads, but they're too old f'that now, so t's jus me."

He nods. "Ifin I may be questioning, where be your brace of patriarchs?"

"I can take y'to them if y'want, it's a bit'f a walk through thick forest but t'ship I'd like y'techpriests t'look at's there as well. If yer happy with't we set off when y've got'm orgunised. Oh, an y'should bring sum'f yer fighters, there're dangerous things in t'woods." She pats the huge antlers and grins.

"Said Antlerbeasts be eaters of meat?" unusual. "Yonder patriachs nae like strangers or is trade restricted?" he seems confused.

Nikota takes a deep breath. “Sorry t’confuse you, lud Castrunova. This place’s where I work, it’s t’closest place t’the village that’s open enough for yer ship. I dun’t live here or in t’village; I live deeper in the forest with m’dads. They don’t leave home much; they’re getting old and can’t walk much, and the forest is dangerous.

So if y’want to meet them y’d have t’walk to where we live for there’s nowhere t’land nearby. And it’s safer for a group t’head there, than for me t’try to bring them here. Does that make sense t’you?”

She runs her hands over the antlers again, and adds “An’ yeh, t’antlerbeast eats meat, why else would it have antlers? They’re gud f’hunting, knocking prey t’the ground and keepin’ them where they can’t hurt it until they die. That’s why it’s best t’move as a group.”

"I cannot debunk ye analysis I am suppose." he pulls out a revolver and check the cylinder. "Lathe body blowers... no." he puts it back in the hip holster. "I might in fact need a more enormous boomstick. Ye follow?"

Nikota steps forward. “F’sure. What sort ‘f weapons d’y’have? Can y’show me?”


	4. Heavy Armaments

"Follow mine feetsteps." he returns to the cutter. Armsmen mill about, setting up kiosks, tables, and a pair of heavy stubber nests. "I take it for obvious mine vassalhelots pelletspewers be insufficent for yonder beastpredators?"

Snickering Nikota replies “’M sorry I can’t, I‘m n’t sure what y’mean by vassulharlot pelterspewer but it dun’t sound like it’d be gud f’much.” She laughs some more then looks guilty, having thought better of saying any more.

Exasperation finally won over. A hand went to his neck, while the other pulled out some sort of exotic tool. A minutes, and some odd static later there was a sound very much like a throat clearing. "A shotgun." a staticky cough. "Also while I don't pry to much into their off time, i suppose you could ask." he smacks his throat another time.

“That’s easier, thank you.” She tilts her head in thought. “No, y’ll need something more exciting th’n a shotgun.”

He nods and waves over a somewhat more armoured figure, who salutes. "Ensign, the local says the fauna's not going to be stopped by shot. Break out the grox guns." the ensign nods and pulls out a congomen, heading over to one of the shipping crates. The trader opens a metal case and pulls out a large scoped rifle. "Is armour penetration needed?" he asked as he opens a case of unusually thick and rounded bullets with different coloured tips.

Nikota leans over the box of ammunition, grinning. “What’s t’strongest y’ve got?”

He taps a bullet coloured the same patina's copper. "Body blower round. Punches through power armour like tissue paper." and moves to a cyan tipped one "organ grinder. less puncturing more massive continual flesh ruining ‘cause it shoots out monowire once it gets in meat." the red, orange, blue, and yellow tipped bullets go unremarked on. In the distance the ensign breaks out some large rifles to some of the armsmen.

She moves to tap the red ones “What d’these do?”

"Incendiaries" he also unseals a packet contain 5 black tipped, hesitates, and put them in a jacket pocket.

"Probably a bad idea in a forest the red ones"

“And those? What do those do?” Nikota was almost vibrating with excitement.

"The Emperor's wrath." he says simply. He taps the cyan and the greenish. "Both or just one?"

“Both ‘f course. Have y’ever fired them? Did they do a lot’f damage?”

"Yes." he smiles a little. "Every now and then one has to fight someone's horrible pet, or the odd random renegade astartes. Or you have to go to hunting some excessivly agressive carnivores. Or the local warlord has a functioning tank" he grimaces slightly and rubs a shoulder. He loads the cyan ones into the rifle, then slings it over his shoulder. He removes a blue and white elongated plasma pistol from his shoulder holster, mutters a brief beseechment to its machine spirit, then pops a cylinder into it.

Nikota nods sagely. “I’ve fought one’f those fallen astartes, y’d need sumthin like that. They’re mostly muscle under t’armour.”

There is a long pause. "I see." alarm bells ring, very loudly. People of feral worlds should not only not know about fallen astartes, they should not have fought them and still be around to talk about it. He waves to the Ensign. "Full court jungleball." They hesitate, then nod.

The silence sets her insides scurrying. “What does that mean? What’s going on?”

"That things are probably a lot more dangerous that we initially assumed." he says calmly. "Given the ammo needed, possible bingo deer. Might need a melta gun or plasma brought down."

“Oh, y’have a lot of heavy weapons then?” Parts of her are washing, a behaviour she encourages since it’s less likely to get her killed than charging around. She has remembered how scared she was on the shuttle; and is unsure how she let herself forget. “How long’ll that take, d’y’reckon?”

"Ten, maybe 15 minutes." he looks at a chrome pocket watch then clicks it shut. "Can't bring down the tank that fast, too big."

“Y’ve a tank?” The panic rises, in the form of scrabbling that tears at her fur and must be audible, if faintly. She can already see Jaspar’s disappointed face. “What d’y’want me t’do?” Stay calm, make yourself useful. She’s done this before, she can do it this time.

"Mmh? Yes, but it's old and doesn't work that well." she seems nervous, and his hearing must be on the fritz. "Nae much, you want some fish?"

A thin smile. “Sure, y’must have l’ts’f exiting uns I’ve n’ver seen before.” She fidgets for a moment while trying to decide what to do.

“’M sorry, ‘f I’ve n’t made much sense, I badly need y’priests t’look’t m’ship y’see. It’s a small grund t’orbit shuttle, like us t’s been on this world f’years now. But with no m’chanicus t’do t’rites n’t much ‘f it works anymore. I dun’t care much ‘bout t’engines, t’s n’t like there’s anywhere t’go, but t’water recyclin system an t’heatin’re hard t’live without.”

He nods. Then walks over to a vox set laying on top of a shipping container. "Lord-Captain to Enginseer Prime. We've found a damaged shuttle, locals would like its spirit treated properly. Come down with the clangers. "

"Affrimative, the omnissiah shall provide succor"

“Thank you!” Her smile is wide, and maybe genuine. “S’glad yer goin’ t’help us.” She brings her hands up to her chest to form an aquilla and bows.

He stares for a moment then nods. "And now we wait. So, tell me about yourself in the meantime, if you please."

“As y’know, m’name’s Nikota, I live in t’deeper woods here w’t m’dads. We do alright, they grow sum crops an’ I sell t’spare skins in town t’get what we need. I d’t’buch’ry out here on my own, as they can’t really help w’that anymore.” Or ever could, in Jaspar’s case; he’d never really understood the concept of preparing food.

“We lived on a station, I didn’t hunt animals then, but there they’d pay f’people.” She realises she has misspoke and hastily adds “Part’cul’r induvidu’ls I mean. Bounties mustly, but sumtimes we’d get contracts directly. ‘Course we’d only kill them ‘f’they were bad people an’ had broken The Law.”

She thinks for a moment before adding “An’ we got here in a shuttle, the pilot’s dead but it’s fine, jus n’t had all t’care it needs.”

He listened to her tale, so assassins who worked for the local enforcers mostly, with a bit of freeblading on the side. Great. There is a shimmer of energy and several plasma armed gun servitors materialize, in one case less the reloading arm, in the camp and began slowly marching over, dead eyes snapping from tree to tree. "Oh good, the heavies are here."

Nikota bristles as the servitors appear; and is unable to contain her squeaks of alarm. She stares at them horrified, unable to take her eyes off their lifeless expressions. “What… are those?” Her voice is a slow whisper and her whole body is frozen as if afraid of drawing their attention.

"Hmm? Gun servitors." he takes a glove off and ivory fingers skitter. "I find plasma cannon gunners tend to be a bit, hmm overenthusiastic" he clicks in technalingua at the armless servitor. "Blasted thing lost an arm in transit. Oh well."

She turns back to him, her expression one of incomprehension and dread. “I dun’t understand, how many’f y’are there? What’re y’going t’do?” She looks around at the armed forces surrounding her. “’M sorry lud, I thought I could help. But I don’t see what I can so on this sort’f scale. Ar y’sure y’don’t want t’be somewhere else, dealing with more th’n three people who live alone in t’woods?”

"Hm? Oh given the local beast quotient they're here to protect the camp mostly in case some obnoxious carnivore comes by. " he idly taps the rifle. "Don't worry about them, they won't wander." he drums his fingers again, the shoulders the rifle. "Alright, lead on into the woods, if you're still up for it. Not bringing the clangers, too noisy, too... simple."

“That’s gud, yes” Her words are accompanied by a lot of nodding. She takes the first few steps slowly, cautiously watching the metal monstrosities for any sign of hostility. When it is clear they are not going to react she makes for the treeline with a walk only just shy of breaking into a run.


	5. Cults and Monsters

Castronova follows at a leisurely pace, accompanied by a servo skull after chattering into a vox bead. There is sometimes a soft whirring at the edge of audibleness. He idly flickers he flicks the eyes to preysense. You never knew what could be hiding out there. The darkness is, as usual, not a hindrance.

She glows in infrared, warm all over, less variation than you’d expect. Once beneath the canopy she skips ahead, putting her arms out to brush the trunks of the trees as she passes like a child, or a lovestruck teenager on a garden world. Heat pulses along her arm as she does so, and whenever her fingers touch bark her hands glow like eyes.

The forest is cool, there are no animals nearby to bring light to the darkness. But the upper half of one of the trunks is notably warmer than any of the others and is cooling before his eyes.

This is bad. He shoulders the rifle He flicks the safety off, and spectrum hops the tree, UV, Noosphere, light amplification. The girl is off, the forest is off, alarm bells ring.

The tree is like most of the others in the other spectra – the thick trunk having only knots or stubs of branches until it reaches the canopy height where it suddenly blossoms outward with a tangled mesh of boughs. But the cover on one side, the warm side, is thinner and some of the damaged branches are still leaking sap. Like something large had recently fallen through them, or forced its way up.

Nikota’s ears prick at the sound of the gun moving, she slows and whispers without turning “Y’seen something?” Her limbs are still, but her coat is twitching.

He still aims at the tree "Something came through here. Recently. Is there so sort of tree predator, drops out of trees on the unwary?" he queries slowly relaxing and lowering the weapon. "Whatever it was, it's big"

She relaxes as well. “No, nuthin like that.” She steps closer and examines the suspect tree. “Rope, the long spotty predator, hides kills in trees sumtimes. But I wouldn’t worry, anything _sensible_ will have left when t’plasma machines came down.” The last part is addressed less to her companion and more at the forest at large.

"Uh huh." In his experience 'animals' that knew of what plasma was tended to be the extra dangerous sort. He slung the rifle back, flicking back to preysense. "Well, let's keep moving, lead on I guess." The servo skull continued to hover over his shoulder, eerily quiet.

As the preysense kicks in a distant area lights up unexpectedly. Two bright lights; directed right at him. They are far enough away that it is hard to make anything of the fuzzy shape they are set in, but they are high up, only a metre or so below the base of the canopy.

"Hold up." he raises the rifle again. "Something tall, tree height." both his eyes glow. "Seems a ways off. So, I defer to your expert opinion. Are we close at least?"

She nods, quiet and nervous again. “Not far. We can make it if we run.”

He nibbles his lip for a moment. "Lead on. " and slings the rifle to jog after her.

The distant eyes track him; but make no move to follow. As they move along the path (little more than an animal trail) marks start appearing on the trees, columns of symbols starting near the canopy and sometimes stretching down to eye level. Most are recognisably low gothic letters and numbers. Nikota is no longer touching the trees that they pass, and the scent of animal is heavy in the air.

No. Not a step further. "What in hell?" cult. It's a cult. He flicked the safety back off. The skull absconded immediately. "Shit"

"Hey, calm down, n'need f'that!" Nikota puts her hands up and takes a cautious step towards him. "T's nuthin t'be concerned about, t's jus t'records. T'number at t'top is t'person's ID number, the rest's crimes, 'f they have kids, change of location an' so on. F'legal reasons. W'dun't have paper here y'see."

Incredulously he paused and looked up to read the glyphs, orthoproxy implant whirring away.

The closest tree has a short sequence, and reads: 143, TMV, PT 3, GBH. The number at the top is struck through, and the lowest set of letters is underlined.

"Enforcer codes." he spun back at the girl. "Why is there law enforcement here? There's nothing here built up. Who would care?"

"We care!" Nikota stomps up to him. "Jus' because people here're spread out doesn't mean there shouldn't be anyone looking out for them. Dun't they still deserve t'same as people living in yer cities an' ships?" She stares up at him accusingly, close enough that she's almost touching him. "Or d'y'think th't living here makes us worthless, 's that it?"

He swivels back. "No, they do deserve the same. But that's a level of dedication that's rare. Anywhere. Most enforcers just care about the power they have. " he steps back. "So someone. Came to a world beyond the emperor's light. And started enforcing justice." he laughs nervously. "That's the one person in a billion who actually lets justice define him as a person. "

The pride is clear in her face. "That's Jaspar. He's one 'f my dads, an' he's a good man." She looks at him sternly as if daring him to disagree.

"I see." he lowers the rifle. "An exceptional individual then." he resumed walking. "Most exceptional."

She nods. "He tries very hard. People dun't often appreciate that."

They pass more trees marked in similar ways, then ones where the top part has been scored seemingly randomly all over. At this point the forest stops abruptly, and before them is an entrance to a huge cavern, taller than the trees. The ground in front is bare from frequent use, and there are rows of flowers planted either side of the entrance. The scent is overpowering, chokingly strong.

Again he balks. "Something's dead here. Or else a megapredator." he unslings the rifle and looks at it ruefully. There are weapons for confined spaces, this is not one of them. Back over the shoulder it goes, though the plasma pistol appears in his hand. "Flowers. A dichotomy. " he murmurs followed by one last sigh. "It's ok to say your incinerator is broken, the tech priests will still fix it"


	6. Shredded Metal

“Broken incinerator? Something dead? I beg your pardon!” Something large steps out from between the trees, snarling words from between exposed fangs.

He swivels, eyes still set to preysense, and the plasma pistol comes up reflexively. He mashes the charge rune.

Nikota immediately grabs his arm and tries to disarm him, as the figure looms over Cas, eyes larger than fists glowing bright in infrared. They are humanoid, tall as a tree, with little of them visible beyond the face due to the proximity.

“I do NOT smell like a dead animal!” It snaps, teeth audibly grinding against each other.

The arm doesn't move much, but it's enough. "Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck." a blue plasma bolt spits out off into the forest. "Fuck." the pistol vents heat, it will take several seconds to recharge. He tries back pedalling.

Nikota releases the arm and grabs for the pistol as a hand slams down on the trader. The creature shifts forward so its torso (little more than a ribcage) is directly above him as it pushes him to the floor.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself Little One, you are _not_ keeping that.”

Fuck. Lumen energy wracks his hands and emergency weapons systems come online and wrist power blades snap out as he flails at the arm sending green lumen shocks from the other. "fuckingxenosmutantfuckingfuckgetthefuckoff"

The arm retreats at the shock, but jaws strike with the speed of a predator’s reflex and teeth designed for crushing bone sink into his torso. With his head in its mouth, breath reeking of rotting corpses, a foot comes forward to pin his legs down as it _PULLS_

His noosphere display turns orange, then red. Armorplas buckles, blackbone strains. "Fucking." Waves of pain strike then shut down, coolant sprays from his mouth and with the shriek of metal he is ripped in half, lumen charges dump and coolant pours forth. The internal furnace is ruptured and fire spews out. Feet twitch reflexively, the ripsnake shoots out his mouth, the biting fangs sinking briefly into the roof of the monster's mouth injecting paingivers before withdrawing back in his throat.

Bellowing in pain the creature releases its grip and flings the torso into the woods. It bends over coughing and spluttering, trying to spit out as much of the coolant as possible. Nikota rushes over to help but isn’t willing to enter the puddle of spit, ash and mechanical parts.

“Blergh, guess I deserved that.” It shakes its head one last time before looking to see where the rest of the cyborg landed.

He is clawing himself away, slowly dragging his upper body along the ground, sparks and coolant slowing from the rip. Fans whirred in his collarbone. His other hand pulls the revolver out, him trying to remember which type of ammo he loaded into it. His coat is on fire, and he can feel the vat flesh on his face cooking.

The creature advances towards him on all fours, body low to the ground. It inhales deeply as it nears him, saliva dripping from its mouth. It moves slowly with telegraphed movements to brush dirt over the fire, eyes fixed on the pistol.

“Don’t try it.” It warns “I don’t want to kill you but I won’t let you threaten my family.”

"I've been dead for years" he half sings. Manstoppers. Fuck. Power reserves are still good in the potentia coils. The eye laser charges. Hopefully the grenades in his coat will not cook off. He holsters the revolver and rubs the charge studs on the rings. Two melta beams to the face kills pretty much everything. And if worse comes to worse he can always overload the core. Being a severed head for a few months is a small price to pay for survival. He starts to laugh, the laugh obviously artificial, as the skin starts to slough off.

Eyes narrow, and a blade sized for a space marine is drawn from a fold of fur clothing. “Will you STOP trying to BLOW YOURSELF UP for FIVE MINUTES?” It slams the knife into his neck each time it shouts, trying hastily and messily to sever the connection to the weapons. “You’ll set the throne-damned forest on fire!”

More coolant spurts out the bale eye spits out a beam into the hand. He gurgles and spits out more coolant. "The forest will burn anyway." the flesh is burnt off revealing a dark grey skull, coolant leaking from the exposed jaw, one arm fails to respond, the melta arm unfortunately. Five digital needlers loaded with tranquilizers spit as one then the arm falls, power blades eating into the earth.

Two of the dart embed in the skin of its arm as it screams “THAT’S THE FUCKING POINT! You’ve already got a gun to our heads; you’re self-destructing for NO REASON!”

He stops, the mandible working. The voice is very obviously mechanical. "Lure. Trap. Others come, same fate." he coughs up more coolant. But he just seems to be laying there. His eyelids are gone, so he can't close them. "What. You?"

Nikota has picked her way through the broken metal and fluids and stops at the creature’s shoulder to pull the darts out. “’M sorry Jaspar, I thought, ‘f he didn’t see you…” She tails off, looking at her feet.


	7. Scorched Earth

Jaspar sighs as he wipes the coolant from Cas’ face. “If it had been up to me you’d have been and gone without ever knowing of our existence.” He scowls at Nikota. “I don’t want you or any of your men in my home. I can’t imagine what she was thinking bringing you here.”

The skull's eyes glare. "Legal codes. Why? Why all this?"

“Look at me.” He snarled. “The sight of me scared you badly enough that you chose to overcharge a plasma pistol right next to your face. What options do I have?” His arm buckles for a moment but he quickly rights himself. “And it’s a long story, but the important bit is that I’ve always been an enforcer first.” He moves to pick up the head but hesitates, his injured hand swaying in the air as he tries to think through the pain and the descending fog.

“W’should go somewhere m’re comfortable.” He states firmly, grabbing the skull and the singed flesh wile rising unsteadily to his feet.

"No." the skull growled. "Tanks soon. Gunships. Niece is less forgiving that I." as if on cue something flies overhead, the droning of engines following.

Jaspar tries to take a step, wobbles then falls to his knees before slumping to his side. “’Not asking for forgiveness.” He murmurs groggily, struggling to hold the skull upright as his limbs grow heavy. “I’m the monster here… Leave the locals out of it.” His eyes won’t focus, he’s fighting a losing battle to stay awake. “Don’t even know about me … innocent … please…”

"I will." the skull growls. "Niece will collective punishment I will just leave."

His eyes close, breathing slows, and his tongue flops out, the saliva flowing out of his mouth turning the dead leaves to ash as it pools beneath his teeth.

“Jaspar!” Nikota has grabbed his shoulder and is trying to shake him, but she can barely move him at all. Her black eyes are wet and her body is covered in bristling rats as she climbs over him to reach the skull. “What have you done to him?” She demands, snatching the skull from his limp fingers. “What were those darts?!” She shakes him, rats spitting as she starts to sob.

"Tranquilizers" the skull says simply. "Antidote, coat, green liquid in glass vials." Too much red lights, and power is precious. No need to waste energy in chit chat.

Rats scatter in all directions, leaping skilfully over the spilled coolant and shards of hot metal. Nikota, her body slightly deflated now, grips the skull tight. “Tell me how to stop this.” Her voice breaks. “’M sorry, I didn’t mean f’any’f this.”

"Run away. Hide. Leave me here. You might lose your hut but they will accept you burned up in the blaze." Another plane flies by, searchlights illuminating the canopy.

“I can’t leave ‘m” She protests softly. Rats scurry over carrying a variety of objects, mostly glass, mostly cylindrical; but none with liquid inside. She sobs again and looks up to see Karger gently taking the skull from her hands and placing it on the ground.

“H’can take care’f m’self better’f he knows w’re safe.” His hands on her shoulders don’t have the strength to lift her to her feet, but the gesture of support is all that’s needed.

One of the passing planes stopped in mid-air and twirled in place. A pair of scatter missiles overshot the location and detonated several dozen meters into the woods. The skull sighed.

The last few rats return, one of which is carrying a vial that is miraculously intact. She has no idea if it is green or not but she’s desperate, so as she reaches Jaspar’s face she chews through the stopper and drops it.

Karger can’t move fast, so it’s easy for the rest of her to catch up. “There’re boltholes that should b’safe, he’ll find us when he comes round.” He says softly, as he guides Nikota away from the fallen giant and the talking skull.


End file.
